


an idle mind (is no friend of mine)

by KatieBirdie



Series: The Miraculous Life and Times of Alya Césaire, Intrepid Reporter [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste is a good friend (once he gets his head out of his ass), Facebook, Friendship, Gen, Kid Mime - Freeform, Lila Rossi Lies, Magical investigations, Making Canon Bend To My Will(TM), Mild Language, Post-Episode: s03 Caméléon | Chameleon, Reddit instead of twitter as social media of choice, Social Media, Staring Lila as Sir Not Appearing In This Fic (yet), actual reporter!alya cesaire, alya césaire is a good friend, alya investigates shit, i'm not on reddit, in which i try and make sense of the class' actions, just so many conversations, ml salt, reddit, references to teenagers being awful to each other, slight au where the seats didn't change back, so who knows how accurate this actually is to it, there are other forms of magic in the miraculous universe than kwamis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBirdie/pseuds/KatieBirdie
Summary: In the middle of the night, Alya Cesaire contemplates her actions, accidentally uncovers a semi-conspiracy about magic, and gets way, way too little sleep.So y'know, the usual.(Or; since the actual show runners insist on ignoring her, I'll do their job for them and give Alya the investigation-based plot line she deserves.)





	1. the spell unravels

In the comfort of her bed, Alya watched as a sliver of moonlight wavered on the wall opposite to the window, every so often cut off by the passing of a car. In an ideal version of the world, she would be asleep right now. Her room was cloaked in darkness, the house was (mercifully) undisturbed by her younger siblings, and she had even tucked her phone away into her desk drawer, safe from any temptations to check it. And yet, awake she remained.

The source of her restless night could be pinned neatly onto one person: Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Or rather, everyone else in relation to Marinette. Honestly, even thinking her name made Alya want to shove her face into her pillow and not consider anything at all; but, consider she must, if only for the sake of her and Marinette’s continued friendship.

_ Not that I’ve been doing a very good job of continuing that friendship in the past few days,  _ she thought ruefully. And really, that was the crux of the whole problem right there, wasn’t it? For all her proclamations of best-friends-forever-ship, Alya hadn’t really been acting very much like a best-friend-forever lately. There was the whole Lila situation ( _ God, the Lila situation)  _ but even before then there had been times and places where she had done wrong by her friend. But Alya had always been best at puzzles when allowed to start last to first, so that was what she was going to do here. Identify the latest problem, and work through past events to find the inciting incident; easy enough.

So, the Lila Situation. Truthfully, there was nothing Alya wanted to do more than travel back to the start of the week and shake some sense into herself.  _ CHECK YOUR DAMN SOURCES,  _ she would shout as she did it, _ YOU ARE A REPUTABLE NEWS SOURCE. LADYBUG HERSELF TRUSTS YOU TO BE TRUTHFUL AND WELL-DOCUMENTED.  _ **_FUCKING ACT LIKE IT, YOU DUMBASS._ ** Because honestly, what even had she been thinking, taking Lila for her word about Jagged Stone’s kitten and all that rot? And what had she been thinking, not even telling Marinette about the seat change, not even saving her a seat, essentially damning her to the back?  _ And while I’m there, _ Alya thought,  _ I’d take the rest of the class to task too.  _ Because really, where’d they get off, glaring at Marinette-- for what? Being blindsided by a seat switch that no one told her about? Wanting to sit up front? And sure, maybe it was because Adrien was there, but Lila didn’t want him moving either, and yet no one found that odd. And where’d  _ Alya _ get off, glaring right along with them?

_ Ugh.  _ She needed to shift gears quick; if she let herself keep thinking about that disastrous scene she’d get stuck in a fuming spiral, which was most decidedly  _ not _ the point of this little midnight mental exercise.

Grimacing, Alya turned onto her back so she could see the light above her bed, grabbing one of her pillows, pressing it onto her face, and kicking off her blankets as she went. Really, she should have been wary of Lila the minute Marinette expressed such strong distaste for her. Marinette may not be perfect, but she didn’t tend to dislike people for no good reason. Even her basic hunches on people were generally accurate. So why didn’t she trust Marinette with this?

Because it was easy, she concluded, scowling into her pillow. Because it was easy and it was beneficial to think that Lila really did have the connections she claimed to have, that she really did suffer from a ringing in her ear, whichever ear it happened to be. She bought into Lila’s lies because with them came promises of introductions to famous reporters and journalists who could add even more pizazz and sparkle to Alya’s already shiny resume. (Never before had Alya been so grateful that she queued posts that weren’t Akuma warnings or livestreams of a battle. The minute she realized that her “interview” with Lila was a crock of bull she deleted it from the queue as fast as she could; she had clawed her way up to be considered the nigh-official Ladybug blog, better even than the actual news regarding her swiftness on reporting and analysing Akuma at times, and she wasn’t going to let that reputation be ruined in one night by a loathsome liar, goddamnit.)

Really, if it weren’t for Lila claiming to be the one and only Rena Rouge she probably would have kept buying into those lies until it was far too late. Even hours later she could picture the moment down to the detail. Lila, sitting pretty and sly as could be at her seat, having invited Alya to help her to the classroom early, just in case her hurts made her slow. Lila, leaning back in her seat and casting a covert ( _ dramatic _ , hindsight argued) glance around the room before telling her that  _ “I’m Ladybug’s best friend for a reason, you know. It all started because of this,” _ and pulling out a fox-tail necklace from her bag. A very familiar fox-tail necklace, one so close to the original that had Alya been anyone else she would have thought it was real. But Alya had held the original in her hands not a week ago, had examined it from top to bottom in her giddiness to be a hero, to be trusted. And so she found the false in Lila’s hand wanting, for while the original had a nick near the top square of orange and a delicate slice running down the curve, Lila’s was unmarred; while the ring for the cord was bent straight at the top, Lila’s was perfectly rounded. 

And then Lila was staring at her, waiting with hungry eyes for her to fall fool, and Alya was forced to gasp and flutter and praise her. What else could she do? Scream and rage and call her out as a liar? On what basis? So she nodded along to Lila’s (outrageous, absolutely outrageous, how had she not noticed) tales, thinking back to the past few days with mounting horror as she did. Was this confusion, this affront at being presumed so gullible, what Marinette felt, watching her friends buy such lies hook, line, and sinker?

A flash of red light cast itself into the room, and suddenly Alya was no longer in the classroom but in her bed, having long removed her pillow from her face to clutch it to her chest in a vice-grip so strong her nails nearly cut through the fabric. Breathing in deeply, she relaxed hands and listened as the source of the red light— a car, probably on it’s way to a late-shift job— made its way out of the street.  _ Contemplation, _ she reminded herself,  _ this is a time for contemplation, not rage. _

Rage, after all, would do her no good right now, no matter how much she wished it would. 

So, she knew why she wanted to believe Lila so badly; fame and fortune was a tempting prize to anyone. But why had she thought  _ jealousy  _ was the problem? Marinette’s crush on Adrian made her a lot of things: a bit obsessive, prone to daydreaming and catastrophizing, jumpy, stuttery, and all around klutzy— but never had it made her  _ jealous _ , not to such a degree to shunt a disabled girl from her new seat (even if that girl wasn’t really as disabled as claimed). Hell, when she was pushed to help Adrian with his date with another girl she gave it her best, because she wanted that boy to be happy, even if that meant he wasn’t with her.

So why had Alya been convinced it was jealousy? Because she had believed whole-heartedly in that idea in the moment.That… that was weird, wasn’t it? Her thinking something so blatantly untrue of her friend without any real prompting. Really, the more she thought about that day as a whole, everything that occurred seemed strange. Why had the entire class turned and glared at Marinette as one, all with the same timing, like some hive mind? Why had Max bought the claim that a goddamn  _ napkin _ would cut his eye, despite the fact he wore glasses? Why had she told Marinette to check her sources and then didn’t follow up herself? She was the  _ queen _ of follow up these days, humbled as she had been by the Chloe-is-Ladybug fiasco. (God, was she ever embarrassed about those days.)

Suddenly, Alya shot out her bed and rushed to her computer, a theory burning in her mind.  _ If there are pieces of magic jewelry tied to tiny spirits and butterflies turning people into monsters,  _ she thought, typing the password, _ why not other types of magic? Why not actual people with magical powers? _

It was terribly far-fetched, something out of a fantasy novel or comic book— but in all honesty, what in Alya’s life  _ wasn’t  _ at this point? If nothing else, it would explain why everyone had acted so out of character the whole day; the whole week, even. How even their teacher had heard such ridiculous, unbelievable lies and never bother fact-checking. Hell, even beyond the classroom, it would explain why Andre the ice cream guy was always able to predict people’s love lives with such accuracy. 

Determined to find some sort of answer, Alya brought up a new webpage and set to work.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not actually sure if i want to continue this, so for now it's just a one shot
> 
> EDIT: since a lot of commenters want to see more + i figured out where i want the plot to head from here, i will be adding more chapters! thank you for the support so far!!


	2. the investigation begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya gets her shit together, gets some sleep, and plans her next attack.

Dropping her head down on steepled fingers, Alya considered the fruits of her labor. It had taken hours of shifting through unreliable accounts, clearly faked videos, and obvious hoaxes, but she had a solid lead in the form of a single reddit account. She had stumbled across the account— named “KidMime17” — while scrolling through a board for supposed psychics. Most of it, as far as she could tell, was pretty much nonsense, but KidMime17 had stuck out to her in part because they _weren’t_ claiming to be a psychic. Not exactly, at least.

In the board they had commented: _I know this isn’t quite the same thing, but all the other threads aren’t getting me anywhere. Have any of you guys heard of a shadow moving on its own and effecting actual physical objects? Sometimes when I pretend to do something, like fake-swatting at a notebook my friend put on the table, my shadow will move of its own will and the notebook will fly off the desk, even though it’s nowhere near the edge. And before you ask— yes, I’ve been tested for schizophrenia. No, I don’t have it. Two of my friends, my mother, and a complete stranger have seen my shadow moving and the objects being thrown/hit/broken/whatever at different times, so I don’t think it’s that, or a mass hallucination either. Serious responses only, please, and any peter pan jokes are gonna be ignored._

The replies were mostly jokes, Peter Pan and not, others telling them to try somewhere else, some claiming a hoax, and all of them altogether useless. Still, Alya had been intrigued. So she had checked out their account and backtracked to the beginning of their posts and comments, looking to ensure it wasn’t a one-off joke. And from what she had seen, it wasn’t. In the beginning, they had commented on threads she had no interest in— video games, jokes, and the art of miming, which she supposed she should have guessed. About a month in, however, the topics changed. First they were mental illness based, asking questions about the signs of different illnesses, the causes of hallucination. Then, mass hallutions, whether or not the objects you hallucinate to have broken stayed that way forever, if you could accidentally trick others into sharing a hallucination. All of this in the span of a couple weeks.

Then the account owner— a guy about her age, she had surmised from several of his earlier posts— switched gears, changing from boards on science and physiology to ones with more… paranormal leanings. There he asked about the different forms ghosts took, the signs of a haunting, if curses were actually a thing. In the middle of the posts was the original comment that drew her in. With every unhelpful answer and useless run-around, she could tell the guy was getting more and more frustrated, and in truth, she was too, even though she was only reading through a backlog.

There were a few more questioning posts, but then it ended with a post to a small board called r/quanticsolutions— a nonsense name, as far as she could tell— where he explained that someone told him to check out this board, and repeated what he had told everyone else about his supposed shadow problem. There was a single comment under it: _I think I know what’s up. I’ll pm you about it._ And that was it. After that last baffling comment, KidMime17 stopped poking around for answers and returned to his original interests, clearly having found _some_ solution to his problem, real or not.

Now, no one could say that Alya was a newbie to the internet. In fact, she had what most would consider too much experience on the internet, especially for a 14-going-on-15-year-old. So she had experienced ARGs and trolls before, had long ago learned to treat each “fact” on the internet with no small amount of suspicion. But from what she had seen this guy seemed perfectly genuine. Sure, it might truly have been some sort of mental issue, but after sinking plenty of time into chasing this guy’s history, she may as well see it through. 

So after shooting off a quick message along the lines of _stumbled onto you on psychics board, think i’ve got a similar problem, can you help a girl out?_ Alya stretched a bit, shoulders aching from hunching at her computer for so long, and tried to figure out her next move. Her mind immediately jumped to Marinette— and, in particular, how shunned she had been in the short week of Lila’s return— and winced. Apologizing to her was the highest priority, but even so Alya found herself… hesitating. Not out of fear, no. She had faced down akuma on an almost weekly basis; she was not one to fall prey to measly fear. The problem was that apologizing wouldn’t really fix much. It wouldn’t stop everyone else from distrusting her. It wouldn’t stop Lila from doing what she could to ruin Marinette’s reputation.

She pictured, for a moment, how Marinette must have felt, knowing no one would believe her and not knowing _why_ , perhaps thinking she truly was the one at fault, and found herself unconsciously clenching her fists. Marinette, her girl, her _best friend_ , didn’t deserve that. And Alya couldn’t just waltz in and apologize with no explanation, nor could she lie about it and hold the potential truth from her friend like that. 

So she wouldn’t apologize yet, not until she had all the facts and could ensure Marinette knew the full truth. But that didn’t necessarily mean Alya would keep isolating her either. Before she could talk herself out of the idea, she rolled her desk chair back to her bed and fished her phone from the side table’s drawer, texted Marinette, _hey gurl, want to grab lunch around 1?? my treat!_ and scooted back to her desk. It was only then that she thought to look at the time. Alya turned on her phone again, the lock screen shining an accusing 4:47 at her. Whoops.

No matter! She still had to consider her only other current lead: Andre, runner of a local ice cream shop and well known accurate predictor of people’s love lives through said ice cream. Alya had been skeptical of such claims when first hearing about him, but checking several business review sites (because obviously she checked) had turned up a ton of reviews claiming his ice cream had matched their newest beau, and even a couple of articles and a video about it. Then, of course, there was their own trip to the shop. All together the evidence was enough for her to make her next step— after crashing into bed for a good morning’s sleep— a quick interview (read: interrogation) with the man. 

And if it went badly or the man revealed himself a fraud? Well, Alya had planned out her potential alias for non-ladybug-matters for a _reason_ . It’d be the perfect way to test it out and sell the story off to some other news site if necessary. Pulling out her pad of post-it notes from a bin on her desk, she quickly scribbled out _Current Plan: 1. Get info from KidMime, 2. Talk to Ice Cream Guy @ 10, 3. Appreciate Mari and get lunch._ She then set an alarm— 5:08 now, _woof_ — shut off her computer, and practically threw herself onto her bed with all the gravitas of someone who had been awake for almost twenty-four hours straight. She was out cold within seconds.

* * *

**_“BEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEP.”_ **

Ah, yes. Alya had forgotten how much she _fucking hated_ her phone alarm. Staggering out of bed— god, why the hell had past her left it on the desk— she grabbed for it and spent a few seconds struggling to hit the _Stop Alarm_ button, glaring at her phone’s screen, which helpfully informed her that it was now 9:03. Great. She briefly entertained the thought of falling back into bed, but held fast against such temptations. “For justice,” she whispered to herself, “For Marinette!” She also thrust her fist triumphantly up in the air as she did so, because she could be extra like that.

Taking a quick second to check reddit again for any response— nothing yet— Alya began to ready herself for a stop at Andre’s. Obviously, she’d want to dress a bit nicer than her usual flannel and jeans; she had researched the common techniques of reporter long before even the Ladyblog, and a good, professional look was a must. After all, the more professional you looked, the more someone would take you seriously. At the same time, she would definitely be using her age to her advantage. Andre would probably be a bit more conscience of his words to an adult if her magic theory was true; it’d be bad form to reveal something that big to an adult reporter, who’d be watching every slip of the tongue, but a girl playing the role of a professional? He might not be so careful then, assuming a lack of years on the field meant a lack of knowledge.

On that train of thought, she rummaged through her closet until she snagged the article of clothing she had been thinking of, pulling it out to examine. It was a pretty orange-and-white number, an A-line dress with broad stripes on the top half. Marinette had gifted to her after being inspired by Alya’s favorite candy, because for that girl _inspiration_ seemed to roughly translate to _anything with a color palette_. It, coincidently, was also the perfect in between of “serious” and “girlish” for Alya’s intentions. Paired with tights, her bookbag, and black flats it would give off exactly the inexperienced vibe she was banking on. She also dug through her lower desk drawers to pull out a cheesy, yellow heart patterned notebook Nora gifted her as something of a gag gift before school started. Outfit and overall approach decided, she gathered the necessary items and headed to the bathroom to change and do her minimal makeup routine. 

Ten minutes later and she was out the door, bike at her side and the shop’s location on her phone. It wouldn’t take more than ten minutes total to get there by bike, which would have her arriving around 9:30, which was shortly after he opened and earlier than planned. All the better for her, really. The timing and the colder weather coming in this week as winter stubbornly made its presence known meant there likely wouldn’t be too many customers, if any at all. Sure of her plan, she hopped on her bike and headed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, this came to me pretty quick! again, thank you to everyone who's commented so far, i probably wouldn't have been so inspired to write this so fast otherwise.  
> unfortunately, we don't have any lila confrontations yet, but i swear they'll happen! for now, alya actually needs to prove her theory correct before rushing headfirst into anything
> 
> also, please note that this isn't beta read, so if you see any mistakes please let me know!


	3. the leads start rolling in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya has important conversations, too little coffee, and a lot of gallons of her Respecting Marinette Juice.

Upon arriving to the ice cream shop, Alya found that her guess had been right; no one was anywhere near the place, even as Andre puttered around behind the counter inside. Swinging off her bike and locking it to a tree with her chain lock— you could never be too careful, after all— she quickly ran through her list of questions. She wasn’t really planning on getting answers to all of them, some were merely curiosity, but it didn’t hurt to have a full set.

****

The building, tucked in between a bookstore and a small faux-indian restaurant, was a pretty almost-white green, and still looked entirely new. It made sense, she supposed. The building had only been repurposed a few months ago, but it made the place stick out next to the worn facades of its older neighbors. The sign, hung above a large wall-spanning window, simply read _Andre’s Ice Cream_ in shiny gold lettering, matching the yellow wooden borders around the window, door, and the bottom and top edges of the building. From what she could see of the inside, the green-white and gold color palette continued to reign, with splashes of dark pink accented chairs and bright paintings on the walls for a bit of spice.

****

Striding confidently through the door, she nodded at Andre as he looked up from the cash register and gave her a rote, “Hello, what can I get for you?”

****

“Oh, I’m not here for ice cream, actually. I was hoping for a quick interview?” she told him, flashing her most winning smile, “It’d take twenty minutes, tops.”

****

He didn’t quite frown, but his smile did lose some of its jolliness. “You realize the shop is already open, yes?”

****

“Oh, I know,” she told him earnestly, “but I can’t do this any other day, and Ms. Bustier— she’s the one who assigned us to interview local shop owners— doesn’t really take late work. I thought maybe I could ask you questions and wait at a table if any customers come in.”

****

“If?” he said, thankfully looking more curious than anything else.

****

Alya set her book bag on the table. “Well, it’s before lunch during a cold snap. I doubt too many people are interested in ice cream this very minute.”

****

Andre took a long look at the outside of his shop. A single person walked by, not glancing up from their phone. There were barely any cars nearby. “I suppose I could set a few minutes aside,” he allowed, already maneuvering out from behind the counter, merry airs returning quickly, “I’m guessing this is about my recent move from vendor to an actual physical location?”

****

Humming noncommittally, Alya pulled out a chair and settled in, taking a moment to take out her notebook, pen, and phone as she waited for Andre to do the same across from her. The second he did, she thrust her hand out to him over the table, telling him, “The name’s Alya Cesaire, by the way,” then, as though she had almost forgot to ask, “do you mind if I record this interview?”

****

“Go ahead,” he said, shaking her outstretched hand. 

****

“Wonderful,” she beamed, setting up her app to record, “I was thinking we’d start out with the main questions first and ask detail questions later. Feel free to ramble, I’ll need to pull quotes for my paper. To begin: what got you interested in the ice cream business in the first place?”

****

Immediately Andre brightened, and launched into a cute story about being a kid and always wanting to go to a local ice cream shop near his house. Alya played her part, taking down a few notes every now and then.

****

And that was the pattern for the next round of questions. Alya blandly listened as Andre spoke at length about his mother’s encouragement (loving), the whereabouts of his old cart (behind the shop), and his personal favorite flavor (mango, with dark chocolate close behind). It was after jotting down a few words about the freezing process that Alya decided to start asking the actual questions she was there for. 

****

“Does the word ‘quantic’ mean anything to you?”

****

For a quick second, Andre froze. Just as quickly he relaxed again, letting out a small ( _nervous_ ) laugh, but Alya’s sharp eyes caught the moment anyway. 

****

“Not really, why do ask?” he said, clearly trying to keep up his early carefree airs. Alya smiled innocently at him.

****

“Oh, it’s just something I saw in a comment regarding your ice cream. Didn’t make much sense to me, bringing up math terms while talking about sweets, so I wanted to hear your thoughts.”

****

“Must have mixed it up with some other word, no doubt, no doubt.” Andre waved his hand as if he was brushing away the whole line of conversation, though there was still an anxious slant to his face. Nodding in what could be taken as acceptance, Alya jotted down _quantic — nervous reaction, follow up needed_ in her little yellow notebook with her other notes from the questions, and switched topics.

****

“Now, you’ve always maintained that your ‘lovers’ specials’ are created to match the love of the buyer’s life. Do you really use magic, as it were, or is it more a matter of marketing?”

****

Andre coughed. “I’m afraid I really should get back to work, now” Before Alya could protest, he stood up from the table and began bustling back to the counter. 

****

“Alright, I’ll make sure to edit that question out of the essay, I guess,” she called, scribbling a quick _avoided lover ice cream question entirely_ down as well.

****

With that final parting remark, Alya swept out of the shop with as much dignity as she could muster— though having to unlock her bike from the tree put a bit of a damper on her exit. It wasn’t until she was all the way down the block, bike in tow, that she allowed herself to pause, sitting on a nearby bench, chin propped up on her hand. That… hadn't gone quite how she had wanted, she could admit. Maybe that week stuck in Lila’s grasp had addled her journalistic mind more than she thought. Still, she had gotten her new lead: _Quantic_. Clearly, there was more to the word than a mathematical concept and a nonsense reddit name. 

****

Speaking of Reddit, Alya pulled out her phone to check if KidMime had replied yet, only to see a set of texts from Marinette, dated around 9:45 am:

_— !!!_

_— of course!!_

_— we should go to that little cafe the popped up near our place last week_

_— Maman went during her lunch break and she said their food is good and the bakes are nearly as good as Papa’s_

_— which means A LOT from her!!_

****

Then, around 10:00 am:

_— ALSO!!_

_— GO! TO! SLEEP! EARLIER!! Even i go to bed at 2!!_

****

Beaming down at her phone, Alya felt a warmth spread through her chest. She had _missed_ Marinette, even during her infatuation with Lila. Had missed having lunch at her house, giggling with her about the latest fashion drama, planning trips and class improvements and schemes to catch Adrien’s attention. _Never again,_ she thought fiercely. Never again would she let anything get between the two of them, magical or mundane. Because Marinette had been the best thing to happen to Alya, and to let her be isolated again would be a disservice— both to Marinette herself and the world at large, who didn’t deserve to have such a bright figure hidden away. Yes, Alya would go tearing through heaven and hell to make sure something like Lila never happened again.

****

But first, she would go out for lunch. Shooting back a confirmation of _sounds good, i’ll meet you there at 12:30?_ Alya checked Reddit. Nothing, but she wouldn’t let herself be discouraged yet. People had things to do, and even if KidMime never responded, there were tons of other users who had made posts and comments on r/quanticsolutions that she could hound. Tucking her phone back in her pocket— another reason to hang onto Marinette, without her Alya’s source of (paid for!) dresses and skirts with pockets would quickly dry out— and considered what to waste her time with. It was 10:15 right now, which meant she had a little more than two hours to spend, not counting time to get back. 

****

Casting her eyes around the tops of the shops, Alya recalled a certain lie of Lila’s about her connection to Ladybug. Maybe a bit of Superhero chasing was in order; while Ladybug herself only showed up for Akumas and evening patrols, Chat Noir had a tendency to hang around on rooftops during the weekends. He would probably know where to point her to get to Ladybug, or at least would be able to her Alya where they’d be during patrol tonight. Having his word that he didn’t know a Lila Rossi would be nice too, though not as good as a quote from the superheroine herself— all Lila would need to do was claim Chat Noir had never met her for safety reasons. 

****

Grabbing her phone once more and swiping through her Ladyblog app (made by Max in exchange for all the akuma footage she had for his fighting game) she checked the Noir Watch forum. Someone had posted a few zoomed-in pictures of him on one of the lower sections of the Eiffel Tower about ten minutes ago, noting that he had left heading west soon after. Alya was on the southwest side of things, so she could head north a bit and take a couple of laps around to see if he was still hanging around. Shoving her phone in her pocket again and pulling her bike around to face north, Alya put her plan into motion.

****

* * *

****

Well, that had been a bust. She had cycled through the streets for an hour, but not a speck of black leather could be found bounding around. The Noir Watch hadn’t contained any new posts either, so Alya grudgingly admitted that the idea wasn’t leading anywhere. Seems like she would just need to get into contact with Ladybug another way.

****

There was a silver lining, though, in the form of one Adrien Agreste nearing the end of a photoshoot. He had grinned and waved at her from the rowhouse window he was posed dramatically leaning out of while the dancing photographer shouted about mothers’ spaghetti and how Adrien needed to _keep smiling, yes, yes, that’s wonderful!_ Alya leaned her bike against the wall and watched with great amusement as Adrien was made to stare sorrowfully, clutch his hand to his chest as though wounded, and push himself half outside the window and wave his hat around like he was shouting at someone from another window, all in quick succession. 

****

Finally, the photographer seemed to have gotten all the shots he wanted, and the scene quickly wrapped up, assistants, make-up artists, and tailors rushing around and putting things away. Adrien vanished from the window and was hustled out of the front door of the house in a few minutes, a man holding a giant light right behind, shooing him forward. Adrien darted to Gorilla and, after a few hushed words and some low grunting from the bodyguard, made his way to Alya.

****

“Alya! I didn’t know you were going to be around here, else I would have told you we were having a shoot today,” he said, not quite jogging over. She could guess why— the red suit he was wearing, while dapper, didn’t seem made for anything other than lounging around on fancy plush chairs, much less outright exercise. 

****

“It was a bit of split-second decision,” she admitted, “I wanted to see if I could flag down Chat Noir for a couple questions, finding you was just a bonus.”

****

For some reason, Adrien looked a bit winded. “O-oh,” he wheezed, “No luck, then?”

****

Maybe his shirt was too tight? “Nah, someone spotted him on the Eiffel, but I couldn’t find him after. He’s probably off bothering a little old lady for food and catnip by now.”

****

“Yeah, probably,” Adrien muttered. Then, abruptly, “So, are you doing anything else today? I was supposed to practice fencing after this, but Gorilla’s letting me off the hook until my Chinese lessons at 1:00.” 

****

Alya cocked an eyebrow. “He can do that? Won’t your old man get mad?”

****

Adrien’s smile became mischievous as he put a finger to his lips and winked. “Father and Nathalie are out on a trip to Hong Kong until Wednesday, and what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

****

Alya grinned right back, thumping him on the shoulder. “There’s the little rebel I always knew you could be! Keep it up, sunshine! I can stick around until noon, but after that, I’ll have to bounce for lunch.”

****

“Oh? Getting lunch with a certain someone?” He teased, leaning close with hands clasped at his chest, “A someone with an impeccable music taste and stunning brown eyes?”

****

She snorted, shoving him away. “Cool it, hotshot, else people will think _you’re_ the one dating Nino. And for your information, the one I’m going off to lunch with has beautiful _blue_ eyes and an unmatched fashion sense.”

****

Adrien blinked at her, visibly surprised. “Oh, really?”

****

“What, a girl can’t hang with her best friend?”

****

“It’s not that,” he assured, “it’s just that things between the two have been kind of… tense, this week. With Lila, and all.”

****

He was eyeing her carefully, and Alya eyed him right back. He was probing her for a specific answer, she could tell. “I won’t let Lila get between the two of us, no matter what she thinks of Marinette.”

****

“Good, good,” Adrien nodded. “The way you were acting with Lila, I was worried you’d drop Marinette.”

****

Alya narrowed her eyes at him. That was too casually negative towards Lila, too unconcerned. She thought back to the week before, how even then he had disregarded Lila as everyone else clamored for her attention, and felt like she had been punched in the stomach. It couldn’t be.

****

She needed to make sure, to give herself an out for the theory quickly coming together in her mind. “Adrien. _How long have you known Lila was lying?_ ”

****

He inched away, clearly reading the stormy slant to her face. “Pretty much since she got here,” he admitted.

****

That’s what she had thought. Suddenly, far too many things began to make sense. Why Marinette, despite fighting Lila’s claims the first day, had said nothing the other four. Why she had still tried to talk to Alya when she had kept doubting her at every turn. She thought back to all the schemes the two of them had concocted to get her and Adrien together and felt a wave of anger crash through her. She would have to talk to Marinette about this after it was all said and done. If this was his reaction to Marinette being directly targeted, then Marinette’s crush could not be allowed to be seen through. Alya took a deep breath and firmly slammed a lid down on the burst of furious accusations crowding in her mind at Adrien’s words. _Facts first_ , she reminded herself, _facts first._ _You are a_ ** _reporter,_** _Cesaire, act like it!_

****

“Okay,” she said instead, “ _O-kay!_ ” Before Adrien could make a break for it the way his worried glances suggested he wanted to, Alya seized his arm, pulled him closer, and hissed, “What we’re going to do right now, is we’re going to walk down the street to the nearest cafe, sit in a booth, and then you are going to start fucking explaining yourself.”

****

“Uh, my clothes— ” he said, but was cut off by a snapped “Later!” as Alya whirled around and started dragging him away from the still bustling scene, snagging her bike along the way.

****

In short order Alya had bullied him into one of the Sunbright Cafe’s many yellow booths and ordered a single black coffee for herself when the waitress swept by. They probably were quite a sight; Adrien is his stuffy red suit and Alya in her modern orange dress, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. There were bigger problems at hand right now. 

****

“Let me just make sure I’ve got this straight,” she said, “Lila shows up. She starts lying pretty much out of the gate, and at some point— probably the first day— you figure out what’s going on, and your response is to _not do a damn thing about it?_ More importantly, you also tell Marinette to not do a damn thing about it? Have I got that right?”

****

Adrien ducked his head, muttering, “When you put it that way, it does sound pretty bad, doesn’t it?” 

****

He met her eyes again. “But I swear it makes sense! A couple years back, I had these lessons on how to act around the media, right?” Alya nodded, honestly not sure where this was heading. “Well, one of the first things they taught me is that when tabloids print awful stuff about you, you just have to ignore it, because if you try and deny it, it just gives them more material and makes it seem like what they’re saying is true. If they can’t get a reaction from you, then they’ll drop it. I figured Lila would be the same way— as long as we let her run her mouth for a while, eventually she’d get bored and drop the act.”

****

Alya leaned back with a sigh, some of the fight leaving her. The annoying thing was that she could absolutely see where Adrien was coming from. Going off the casual remarks about his home life, she knew that he had barely had contact with the outside world for years, his only friends a brat of a girl and himself. Of course he would base his understanding of people off his main point of contact: interviews and media. Why shouldn’t Lila act like the tabloids? She lied just like them already.

****

Before Alya could articulate the very big difference between a person and a magazine, the waitress returned, slapped the coffee down onto the table, and darted away. Alya couldn’t blame her for the speedy departure— the cafe was packed. She took the opportunity to organize her thoughts, grabbing the mug and chugging the piping hot coffee at a speed others would call terrifying. God, those four hours of sleep were really hitting her.

****

Back to the point: ignorance wasn’t an excuse. And the fact of the matter was that those sorts of tactics rarely worked on people. 

****

“Look,” she said, “I get where you’re coming from here, but that’s not how things work.”

****

Adrien opened his mouth as though to argue his point, but Alya cut him off. “No, seriously Agreste, that’s not how these things work. People like Lila don’t just _get bored with it._ When you ignore a person who’s acting out, they won’t think ‘Oh, I must be in the wrong!’ They’ll think ‘Oh, I can get away with this for as long as I want!’ because they _can._ ”

****

“But if you don’t reward them with attention, then they won’t have a reason to keep going,” he countered.

****

Alya couldn’t help but shake her head at his optimism. “Maybe that’s true, but she _is_ being rewarded right now. You might be ignoring her, but everyone else in the class isn’t. Hell, they’re practically worshipping her!”

****

She twisted the empty mug around in irritation. Adrien frowned, clearly not sure how to argue that point. “That’s not even the main problem here, really,” Alya said, “the problem is that you didn’t even once try to let us know she was lying! You couldn’t have spared even a few seconds to tell us?”

****

Adrian raised his hands up defensively. “It’s not like any of the things she promised were actually going to happen. I figured once her promises fell through, the whole thing would be blown wide open.”

****

She stared at him incredulously. Was it seriously not getting through his thick, blonde head? Slowly, she said, “That’s not the issue here, Agreste. The issue is that you were perfectly content to let your friends be tricked for what could have been _weeks._ ”

****

Finally, Adrian seemed uncertain. Time for the killing blow. “Think of it this way: how do you think Nino will feel when, after learning that he _isn’t_ going to meet Spielberg, his best friend tells him that he knew that it would never actually happen? That his best friend let him get his hopes up, let him tell others that he was going to meet a bonafide legend, and didn’t once try to explain the truth and spare him the embarrassment?” Alya leaned forward. “Spoiler warning; he’s not going to feel _good,_ he’s going to feel _betrayed!_ ”

****

“But that’s not how I meant it!”

****

“What you meant doesn’t matter!” Alya snapped back, “You could mean dozens of things, but it won’t change what you actually did— which was nothing. Nino wasn’t the only one lied to, either. Lila made promises to Rose, and Max, and Mylene! Do you think _Rose_ is going to react well to learning you knew to whole time Jagged Stone wasn’t going to be at her animal cruelty protest?”

****

There was a heavy pause. Adrian shrunk into himself.

****

“Oh,” he said, quietly, at last seeming to understand what Alya was saying.

****

She slumped back, desperately craving another dose of caffeine. “Yeah, _oh._ ”

****

For a good several seconds, neither of them said anything. Alya let her gaze wander to the other people in the cafe, not really wanting to watch Adrian contemplate. The waitress from before had been joined by another, and was going at a far more leisurely pace now. Alya flagged her down for second black coffee. Maybe she’s actually let herself enjoy this one slowly. 

****

Adrian watched as the waitress walked off, and said, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

****

“When this is all over, apologizing would be a good start. But there’s not much you can do to convince anyone Lila’s lying at the moment,” she told him, “but what you can do is stand by Marinette right now. Lila has a grudge against her, and I can’t defend her myself if I want to keep gathering evidence that literally everything she says is false.“

****

“Stand by Marinette,” he repeated. A determined look came over him, his fists balling up. “I can do that. I won’t let you down, Alya.”

****

She nodded approvingly. There was the secret firecracker she knew. Suddenly, the waitress appeared, another black coffee in hand. This time, it was set down far more gently, along with a new check. Alya took the moment to glance at her phone. 11:50. She sighed. So much for savoring the coffee.

****

“Look, I need to head out soon,” she said, “remember you can text me about this anytime, all right? Neither of us are alone, here.”

****

He gave her a weak grin. “I know.”

****

Alya chugged the new coffee in the same alarming manner as before and went to pay up front. As she walked to the entrance, she saw Adrian hunched over his phone, a sharp look in his eyes. Alya slipped through the door, a smile on her face. He had made a mistake here, one that could have been even worse than it was, but she knew that underneath the naivety and passivity was someone who could be trusted to do the right thing.

****

* * *

****

As she glided down the half-empty streets, Alya found her mind turning back to Nino. More specifically, what to do about his belief in Lila. On one hand, she needed to tell him as soon as possible, because if she had to spend a second longer watching him act like just another one of Lila’s simpering sycophants, then someone was going to get decked that Monday morning. She had enough of that from her memories, thanks. On the other, she didn’t yet know exactly how Lila’s powers worked. There was a good chance that the spell could only be broken if Lila herself contradicted her own lies— after all, Marinette had been pointed out the problems in Lila’s claims, but that hadn’t broken anyone out of it. But maybe that was because they were just her own words? If she had presented the class an interview where Jagged said himself that he had never met Lila, would that have worked?

****

There were too many variables tell right now, she concluded, scowling as she took a sharp left. She would simply have to wait until Monday and contain her homicidal rage long enough to ask Lila a question that Nino knew the true answer to.

****

She was in the middle of planning her attack— maybe she could get Lila to claim a musician with no siblings was her uncle?-- when she reached the Brass Vine Cafe, just in time to see Marinette sitting down at a window booth. Smiling at the sight of her best friend, Alya locked her bike to a tree and headed in. 

****

“What’s this?” she called, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng being on time? It’s a Christmas miracle!”

****

Marinette twisted around in her seat, grinning widely. “Alya Cesaire, being late? It’s a Christmas disaster!”

****

Alya sat down, and for a second they simply stared at each other, before bursting into wild giggles. It was a stupid joke, but Alya was too stuck on the delight of just sitting with her friend to mind. Every time she thought back to the week before, there was a heavy emptiness to it, as though she had something ripped away from her. But here, in this little start-up cafe, Alya felt perfectly whole.

****

That didn’t mean she was going to let that reply go, however. “A Christmas disaster? What on earth would _that_ be?”

****

“Oh, shush,” Marinette said, kicking her lightly under the table. “I don’t know, the tree burning down? I didn’t have time to think through what I said, okay?”

****

“So you claim,” Alya sniffed back, haughty. “Did your Maman say what she got here? I only want to order what’s been deemed worthy by Mrs. Cheng’s distinguished palette.”

****

Marinette cracked open one of the supplied menus, glancing through it. “The eclairs, banana bread and coffee, I think. I’ll be going off Maman’s script, though. Ooh— maybe I’ll get the muffins.”

****

Alya pushed her menu to the side with delicate airs. “If you so insist. I’ll stick to the script wholeheartedly. No coffee, though. I’ve already had two cups today.”

****

Marinette snorted. “I can guess why. Why were you up so late, anyway?”

****

“Oh, just some research for the Ladyblog; real top secret stuff, can’t let anyone in on it.” Alya said, waving a hand vaguely in the air.

****

“Not even your best friend?” Marinette pouted. 

****

Alya laughed and pushed the menu up to hide Marinette’s face. “Not even her!”

****

A waiter arrived to take their orders, and from there they switched to other topics. Marinette spoke at length about her newest design— a jacket with a hood like a jackal’s head— and the recently revealed _Mode_ line, picking each dress apart one by one. Between bites of freshly delivered banana bread, Alya returned to favor, recounting the many new ways Etta and Ella were succeeding at making her pull her hair out, as well as a heavily edited version of her interview with Andre, claiming it practice.

****

“Can’t get rusty, now can I?” she said with a wink as Marinette nibbled at her raspberry muffins (which she proclaimed delicious).

****

Marinette threw her arm up to her forehead, gazing woefully at the ceiling. “Oh, the horror! Alya Cesaire hasn’t worked on a scoop in the last two days!”

****

“Exactly!” Alya pointed her eclair at Marinette, and idea forming. “Speaking of scoops, remember when you got me that exclusive with Ladybug?”

****

Stiffening, Marinette gave a cautious, “Yes…”

****

Right. Maybe asking a favor from the girl she had (unwillingly) been ignoring for the past week wasn’t the best idea Alya ever had. How should she play this?

****

Scrambling for something to add, she said, “I need to get in contact with her for my research! There are some claims I’ve heard I’ll need to verify before I put any stock in them. We don’t need a repeat of Anti-bug, y’know?” _Shit, that was terrible._

****

Miraculously, her blabbering seemed to work. Marinette brightened up again, and said modestly, “Well, it was mostly good luck— she was patrolling near my house and I managed to catch her in a spare moment. But I can definitely keep an eye out!”

****

_That seriously worked?_ Alya wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “That’s all I’d ask of you anyway, girl,” she reassured. 

****

They then lapsed into a comfortable silence, both finishing up their baked goods. Once the plates had been cleaned and the bill split, they headed out the door. Before Marinette could dart back home to work on her jacket, Alya turned to her.

****

“Look,” she said, “I know I was acting weird this past week, but I want you to know that in the end I’ll always be supporting you— “ 

****

Marinette took one of Alya’s hands in her own. “Oh, Alya,” she sighed, “I trust you, okay? Things _have_ been weird, I’ll admit, but I know you, and I know that you aren’t the kind of person to just turn your back on me. I won’t say I don’t want to know what’s going on— I really, really do— but the fact that you made the time to have lunch with me today says a lot. Just promise me you’ll explain everything the minute you can?”

****

Alya felt her eyes water. “Yeah,” she said thickly, “yeah, I can absolutely do that, ‘Nette.”

****

“Then that’s all I can ask for,” she parroted with a smile. Then, with a parting wave, she turned to walk home.

****

Slumping against the cafe wall, Alya let out a relieved sigh. That had gone far better than it had any reason to. She checked her reddit chat once more, and grinned down at the _‘oh, of course! Do you live near paris??’_ that greeted her.

****

Things, it seemed, were all coming up Alya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, remember when i said i'd post the next chapter soon after chapter two? yeah.... that didn't happen. as an apology, this one is longer than chapters one and two combined! hope you liked reading characters talking to each other!
> 
> so yeah, adrien and marinette have finally shown up! adrien with egg on his face, and marinette being much calmer than usual-- which is for a reason! will we ever get around to anyone else in the class? mayhaps.
> 
> i'll try not to take as long on chapter four, i swear!!


	4. new perspectives emerge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As others ponder important revelations, Alya tracks down a potentially useful connection.

It was only when she reached the relative safety of her attic bedroom that Marinette allowed herself to slump against a wall, clutching her phone, a giddy grin breaking out on her face. Tikki flew out her purse, and Marinette beamed at her. “Did you hear that? She wants to _verify some facts_! I’ll bet my bottom dollar she was talking about the interview with Lila! There hasn’t been anything else Ladybug related happening this week, not even an akuma. She must finally be seeing sense about her!”

For once, Tikki didn’t seem as optimistic. “If she’s figured out Lila’s a liar, why didn’t she just go out and say it? She’s hardly one for evasion.”

Marinette refused to let her hopes be dampened. “Maybe she’s trying to be thorough with her proof? Lila hasn’t just been lying to her, she’s been lying to the whole class, plus the teachers and her parents. Alya probably knows she’ll wiggle out of just a few of her lies being exposed and wants to smack all of them down at once. She does love a good performance.”

She saw that Tikki remained unconvinced and sighed, holding out her cupped hands for the kwami to settle into. “I know you’re worried, but I really want to believe in Alya. She wouldn’t try to call Ladybug in if she didn’t think it was important, and the fact she even asked me to meet with her after ignoring me all week means something had to have changed, right? Plus, she hasn’t posted that interview yet, and she always posts non-akuma things a couple days after they happen! Please, Tikki, just… let me believe in my friends, even for only a little while.”

At the sight of her chosen blinking away unshed tears, Tikki surged upwards, cradling Marinette’s cheek, as well as a one-inch being, could manage. “Oh, Marinette, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up for nothing!” She felt her cheek round as Marinette smiled, and backed away to gaze earnestly at her. “I know how important Alya is to you, and I don’t want you hurt. How about this—I’ll reserve judgment until the interview, and we’ll go off what Alya brings up then. Will that work?”

Marinette began to grin again, and said, “That’ll work just fine—I’ll tell her after the patrol I waited on my balcony and caught Ladybug across the street.”

She then straightened up from her current slouch against the wall, and clapped her hands together. “Now, with that squared away, how do you feel about some baking? You’ve only been getting leftovers and packaged stuff all week, some fresh chocolate chip cookies will do you good. Oh! We could make a cake too, I know Maman has been meaning to strike back at the Archambeaus’ in our nicety war for a while now, that would be perfect—”

Marinette continued to chatter, voice fading away as she climbed down the ladder to the rest of the house. Tikki followed behind with a soft smile on her face, not particularly concerned with being seen. Tom and Sabine worked the bakery until six o’clock, which left at least three hours to themselves, not including the time it would take to pack up all the good leftovers to be sold or donated, and set everything up for tomorrow. Marinette probably wouldn’t bake the whole time, of course, but it would be nice to float freely for even just an hour.

Watching as Marinette darted around the kitchen to gather her ingredients, Tikki settled down on the counter. In truth, she was almost grateful for this week. Seeing her chosen almost akumatized had been frightening. No, not frightening, _terrifying._ Never before had she been made to contemplate what a possessed Ladybug would look like, and though she loathed to think of it even now, she could admit that it had been exactly the wake-up call she needed. Because if she had been doing her job right, then that moment in the bathroom never would have happened, no matter what Lila said. If she had been doing her job right, Marinette would have stood tall and unbending to any threats. So Tikki had taken a good, hard look at herself, and she wasn’t pleased with what she saw.

What it came down to was this: sometimes, when Tikki looked at Marinette’s dark hair and steely eyes, she saw Joan, and Hippatalya, and the dozens of other war-born Ladybugs who fought and bled and raged for people who would only go on to forget them, to forget the sacrifices made for their safety. With those Ladybugs, harsh words and stern instruction were par for the course. Expected, even. After all, what warrior wouldn’t understand the necessity of perfection in war? What soldier wouldn’t prefer certain corrections to placating words?

What it came down to was this: Marinette was not those Ladybugs. She was the Ladybug of modern Paris, born in peace, raised to love and sing and make mistakes, because who should care that she did something wrong? Not her parents, who soothed rather than shouted, who believed wholeheartedly in the power of learning through gentle words. Not her friends, who smiled and laughed then moved to help clean up. And wasn’t that what the Ladybug, what all the Miraculous, were meant to fight for? Love, hope, and peace?

Maybe it was all the time spent drowsing in her earrings, or maybe it was that she was growing thoughtless in her old age, but Tikki had been going about teaching her chosen all wrong. She had seen the way things were done now, had thought that the concept of positive reinforcement was a lovely idea. So why had she failed to adapt as she had for other welders? After all, the kwami were meant to be partners, supporters, and what had she been doing but scolding and repriming Marinette at every turn? She couldn’t excuse every misstep, of course, but that didn’t mean she needed to tear Marinette down for every bad thing to happen in her vicinity, whether it was truly her fault or not. Spirits, if the original Guardian could see her now, Tikki thought, shameful. Angry at every minor infraction under the sun. 

Well, it wouldn’t be like that anymore. Tikki had been gentle with Ladybugs before, back in the beginning when wars were kept small and through within but a year or two. She could be gentle again, could relearn the art of teaching in times of relative peace. Her chosen deserved no less, and it was a true shame it had taken a Ladybug nearly being compromised for her to realize her mistake. 

Marinette called her name. She looked up to see her already halfway through her first batch of cookies, waiting for Tikki to okay the inclusion of almonds. Answering in affirmation, she flew to the side of the counter Marinette was working on, snatching up a few spare semi-sweet chips and making her way to Marinette’s shoulder to watch the process. Marinette giggled, and Tikki allowed herself to soak in the warm atmosphere of the kitchen, for once content.

Never again, she swore. Unbeknownst to her, her oath was being echoed mere blocks away.

* * *

Adrien was angry. He was angry at Lila for lying, was angry at his father for keeping him so sheltered he couldn’t understand when he was betraying his own friends, but mostly he was angry at himself. For standing by as his friends were lied to over and over, for watching idly instead of being proactive in his promise to stand next to Marinette as the week went on. Sure, he had insisted on sitting next to her even when Ms. Bustier called for Marinette to be moved back down to her old seat, but that was a drop in the bucket compared to what he could have done, what he _should_ have done.

He was tempted to let himself to stew in those feelings, but then he would just be making the same mistakes all over again, letting himself grow stagnant in the face of potential action. So instead he began to plan on his new approach to Lila. While he only ever saw Lila make one or two backhanded comments, mostly contenting herself in becoming Alya’s other best friend next to Marinette, the fact that Alya found it necessary to warn him to guard Marinette at all meant there was more going on under the surface than he was seeing. Still, he couldn’t be too blatant in his counters, or else his father would hear about it, either from the school or Lila herself—he didn’t doubt for a second she wouldn’t spread the tale of Adrien Agreste acting out, and though her lies were ridiculous, she was a good actor when it came down to a sob story. 

So, he had to be subtle in his support. Spending his lunches with her and sticking by her side in between classes would probably make up the most of what he could do, but at least it would close up openings for Lila to try anything. He could start writing down her lies and giving them to Alya as evidence, too. There was no way she wasn’t contradicting herself with the timing of her “trips”, not with how unbelievable they were already. That would have to count for something, wouldn’t it? He thought briefly about dabbling in some small pranks but quickly steered himself away from that line of thought. He didn’t have much experience in pranking well, and getting Lila angry might make her go after Marinette more actively, or even the rest of the class in general. 

His action plan amounted to this:

-Stick by Marinette throughout the day

-Collect evidence of her lies

-Keep Alya updated

It was simple, but it was all he could do currently without potentially stepping out of line and angering his father, so it would have to be enough. Unless his father suddenly decided to loosen his reigns and stop caring about any stories that might pop up in the media, he couldn’t afford to be vocal. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t comfort Marinette, give her an ear to rant to. And when this whole fiasco was done and over with, he could start mending bridges with similar offerings to Nino and everyone else. 

With no other avenues open at the moment, Adrien sat back, letting his mind wander. As it often did, it turned to Ladybug. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine what she was doing right this second. Watching TV? Working out? Baking? Studying? (He knew she was around his age, no matter her claims of being 5000 years old. He had asked Plagg about it and according to him Miraculous welders had the same life span of humans, and more than once Ladybug had remarked about work being due at midnight, which he doubted were how businesses did things.)

Suddenly, an unwanted thought came to him. If he could misstep in dealing with Lila, were there signs he was misreading with Ladybug? Immediately, he wanted to derail that train of thought as quickly as he had the pranking idea. But he had to follow the tracks, if only to reassure himself. Propping his head on his hands, he considered their flirting routine. He had always assumed she didn’t mind it, even enjoyed it at times, going off the fights where she would banter back. Sure, she seemed annoyed at times, but he had assumed that was part of the bit. But they really hadn’t _talked_ about it, had they? He frowned. They hadn’t really talked about anything regarding their partnership, honestly. A part of him wanted to say that they didn’t need to talk about it, that they knew each other well enough through fighting. It was hard to feel like a stranger with the girl whose hips you regularly grabbed and who grabbed you by the hips right back, even if both of you only did so to either throw or catch the other. 

But communication was key, wasn’t it? That’s was every tv show, book, and magazine claimed anyway, and while not everything media told you was to be trusted, the idea seemed solid enough on its own. And while he could handle losing a friend from class due to miscommunication, devastating as it would be, the same could not be said for Ladybug. Not only couldn’t he afford to lose Ladybug, _Paris_ couldn’t afford to lose Ladybug. Not now, not when Hawkmoth continued to reign, when the lives of countless Parisians rested on the cry of _“Miraculous Ladybug!”_

He would bring it up on patrol, he decided. It couldn’t hurt. If Ladybug didn’t mind Chat’s flirting or his fighting tactics, then that would be the end of it. He could challenge Ladybug to a race to break any tension brought on by questioning the way of things and go on his merry way back home. No harm, no foul. And if Ladybug did have problems she never voiced, then they could have a proper conversation about it, free from the constraints of a raging akuma taking up their attention. If anything, it would probably make their partnership all the stronger.

He wouldn’t let his friends down. Not his classmates, not Alya, not Nino, not Ladybug, and certainly not Marinette. Never again. 

* * *

Unaware of the effects of her meet-ups that day, Alya road through the streets, plotting furiously. Mostly on how she could trip Lila up and lie about something that Nino (and the rest of the class, if she really spun it right) would know wasn’t true. Maybe she could make Lila claim she made the design for Jagged’s album cover? She probably didn’t know Marinette was the designer, considering she risked lying about Jagged Stone specifically instead of any other musician.

...Then again, maybe she did know, and was stupid enough to think the girl who knew Jagged personally wouldn’t have an objection. Going off the other things she had claimed (Seriously, how the fuck would a napkin cut somebody’s eye?), Alya wouldn’t put it past her. But if everyone would believe her anyway, why not mess with them and claim whatever she wanted?

That reminded her, actually—Alya still wasn’t sure if Lila even knew of her own powers. If she didn’t, why lie so obviously? Did she just think everyone in the world was a gullible idiot? Alya probably would have thought so if everyone around her fell for whatever she said. But that assumed that Lila had always had her power. Was there an age that magic showed up? Did Lila’s parents have powers too? That wasn’t even getting into how her powers worked, if there was anyway to counter it without Lila herself messing up and telling a lie the person knows isn’t true.

She still didn’t even know if that type of magic was real, or if she and the rest of her class were just collectively losing their minds. 

She let out a growl, maneuvering out of a man’s way. It was infuriating. Alya liked to think of herself as a people person; she usually had a good sense of what made someone tick a few conversations in. But Lila was an enigma, producing more questions for every one asked, like a hydra growing heads. Nothing about her made sense, and no answer she gave could be trusted to be the truth. Technically, Alya didn’t even know if Lila’s mother was really a diplomat.

She skidded to a sudden stop. That… could be a productive line of questioning, if she went about it right. Even just checking the wikipedia for the Italian embassy could divulge some answers. Even if Rossi was a common name, it probably would be too hard to find links to the rest of her family—why be thorough when people would believe you either way? Plus, the wikipedia moderators were brutal when it came to people adding false information; she had seen it herself in regards to Ladybug and Chat Noir’s page. She didn’t have any other leads to follow today; KidMime could only schedule a meeting tomorrow, and who knew when Marinette could catch sight of Ladybug.

Broken out of her musing by a lady shouting at her to _“Get out from the middle of the sidewalk if you aren’t going to move!”_ Alya kicked off once more, mind still half-stuck on all the sites she could stalk Lila’s supposed diplomat mother on. Did Lila have a facebook? For some reason the mere idea amused her. If she did, did she spend as much time lying there as real life? 

There was no way to know until she got home and got cracking, so Alya peddled like a girl on a mission.

—-

Hunched in front of her computer, researching for the second time in twenty-four hours, Alya skimmed through the Italian embassy’s official page with Lila’s facebook page (because yes, she did in fact have one, barren as it was) open in the next tab. It was a minimalist site, with all the places where the Italian ambassadors and consultants worked listed neatly to the side. It took only a few seconds to find out that Lila’s mother, Stephane Rossi, was indeed an ambassador for Italian-French relations. So, there was at least one thing Lila hadn’t thought to fabricate. 

Switching over to Lila’s facebook, she scrolled through the list of friends. Most were girls her age with posts entirely in Italian—friends from back home, Alya supposed—and a couple other people with the last name Rossi, probably cousins, aunts, and uncles. And at the very bottom was the facebook profile for one Stephane Rossi, as well an Archie Felici, an older man who shared very similar eyes and face structure with Lila. Alya found herself intrigued. Lila, for all her bragging about her mother’s position, never talked about her father. Was he simply not a part of her life, or was he not exciting enough for her to bother talking up?

Clicking through Felici’s page, she found multiple posts referencing his job at what looked to be a home security firm, along with a few pictures of him with what was undoubtedly Mrs. Rossi on dates. That explained it, then. When it came down to showing off her “connections”, an ambassador was far more flashy and interesting than someone in the security business. Lila probably had decided to cut her losses and not bother talking about him at all, having a hard time making his job sound impressive. 

Still, he could be useful for fact-checking, so Alya bookmarked his profile and checked out Stephane’s profile. Idly, she wondered why they had different last names before chalking in up to either work-related reasons or Stephane simply wanting to keep her maiden name. The Dupain-Chengs had done something similar, after all. Compared to her husband’s posting habits, Stephane’s profile had very little going on, other than some statements on the embassy’s work. There was a link to her non-working email, though, which Alya quickly saved for future reference. She had been worried about trying to contact the woman through her place of work, but that would make things much easier. She peaked at her cousins’ profiles before deming them unimportant for the moment. 

Sitting back with a sigh, Alya considered her next move. A part of her wanted to email Mrs. Rossi right away, but she stilled her hand. What would she do, randomly accuse the woman’s daughter of having magic? There was no telling if she knew what was going on, or even if she had magic too. Hell, she and her husband could be just as entangled in Lila’s web as everyone else. It would certainly explain how Lila had managed to miss huge chunks at school under the guise of going with her mother on trips. Her eyes strayed to Lila’s friends list again. Actually…

Alya straightened, grinning widely at her computer. She couldn’t risk contacting Lila’s immediate family yet, but she could probably pull off calling her cousins. Already the ploy was forming in her mind. She could pull the reporter angle again, though this time it would probably be better to commit to her pen name instead of risking them connecting her to the Ladyblog. A freelance reporter, then, pulling random responses to her questions to pit against the main interviewee, maybe? Then she could ask them about their connection to the word quantic, just like Andre. If they reacted badly, that meant there was a good chance Mrs. Rossi had a clue about magic too. 

She jumped up and began to pace, a plan developing. She wouldn’t want this connected to her in any way—her name was synonymous with Ladybug and Chat Noir these days, and she didn’t want to bring too much attention to them by the magical community, assuming there was one. If it did exist, they might see her probing as her doing so at the orders of the duo. She didn’t know how much they knew about these outside forces, and she wouldn’t want to give them any new enemies. They had their hands full with Hawkmoth already. (It was possible she was growing paranoid, but at this point she deserved to be suspicious; there was so little information and so much potential danger when it came to this investigation of hers.)

A public payphone would be her best bet. Even if it was traced, timed right no one would be there to see her use it, and she’d be in the clear. How should she preface her calls, then?

Pivoting in place, Alya mimicked holding a phone to her ear. “Hello, my name is Cecilia Bellamy, and I’m a freelance reporter for an independent news site. I’d like to pull some random responses, would you mind answering a few questions for me?” 

It was rough, but she could work with it. Turning back to her computer, she googled the nearest payphones and checked which of Lila’s cousins and other relatives had any signs of speaking French, absentmindedly checking the Felicis’ on the list, too. There were about three, going off her (admittedly quick) search, but it was a good enough start. She put their names into the first phone number finding website to come up on google and added the numbers it gave back to her notes app. 

The closest pay phone was just a ten minute walk, so she took her time with it, carefully considering the crowds. It was a busy day, all the tourists converging on Paris to catch the sights before the chill could truly take hold. All the better for her, really. Most people wouldn’t be bothered to watch what some random girl was doing in a phonebooth, but it was a rule of thumb that tourists cared about their plans above all. Nothing would tear them from those plans, especially not something so mundane as a girl calling someone.

She dialed the first number—a cousin from Lila’s mother’s side, around eighteen years old—and waited for her first subject to pick up, her cell phone angled towards the payphone and recording. 

“Uh, Buon pomeriggio?” 

Not giving him a chance to hang up, Alya said, “Hello, are you Salvator Rossi? Do you speak conversational French?”

There was a few seconds of shuffling on the other end, as if Salvator were moving away from something. With a heavy accent, he replied, “Yes, I do. Who are you, and why are you calling?”

Ayla repeated her practiced spiel, tacking on that she meant to gauge awareness of certain terms. 

“What kind of questions?” His tone was suspicious, but only in the way most people were when they thought they were dealing with a spam call.

“Very simple ones,” she reassured, “Won’t take more than a minute or two of your time. All I’ll need are yes and no answers, really.”

“Go ahead, I suppose.”

“Great! Now, does the word quantic mean anything to you?” Alya leaned against the wall of the phone booth, attention solely on the man’s response. She wished she actually see Salvator’s face. She had always been best at interpreting non-verbal cues, it was impossible to tell how he actually felt through conversation alone.

“No, should it? Do you mean quantum?” 

Huh. She hadn’t quite expected that. Recovering quickly, Alya said, “No, I mean quantic. Have you heard it before now?”

Salvator confirmed he hadn’t, and denied seeing anything strange or baffling happening around people he knew. Wrapping up with some banal pleasantries, Alya hung up with a sigh. She had been hoping to catch a sign of secrecy right off the bat. That didn’t mean she’d let a disappointing start lead her off the trail, though. What kind of reporter would she be if she had that sort of attitude? 

The next call, which was with a woman on Lila’s father’s side named Lucia Donati, was similarly unhelpful. While she did claim to remember hearing the word once or twice, she couldn’t say where or who might have said it. When asked to define it, she èmuttered something about equations and admitted to not being sure what it meant. 

So, when Alya began to dial her last subject—Anna Rossi, twenty-three years old, second cousin—she wasn’t hoping for much. Maybe a comment about hearing the word, like her second call, but in the end, she’d probably have to comb through Facebook again. 

“Salve, chi è?” The woman’s voice was low and drowsy. “Posso esserle d'aiuto?”

“Hello, Anna, can you speak conversational French?” Suddenly more awake, Anna answered affirmatively. “Wonderful! I’m Cecile Bellamy, an independent reporter for the Gazette de Maude, may I ask you a few simple questions?”

“If you must.”

“Right. Does the word quantic mean anything to you?”

Anna sucked in a sharp breath. Alya perked up, not bothering to hide her grin at the sound. There was a moment of silence, then Anna said. “No, not any more. Don’t call this number again, Maria.” The call was cut.

_Hello, lead!_ She now had a direct line tying magic to the Rossi family. Stopping and saving her phone recording (it would be terrible quality, but she could hardly care at the moment), now quite pleased with her little Facebook detour. All that was left to wrap her “Lila has Magic, Please Help” presentation for Ladybug was her meet up with KidMime to gather some solid testimony that magical humans even existed. She didn’t know how much Ladybug knew about the greater magical world, so for the most part she had been banking on none. 

She also added a mental note to follow up on the name Maria after the whole Lila thing was squared away. Judging by her tone, that was a rabbit hole all on its own. For now, though, her plans were to simply compile all her current information and decide her approach Monday, both assuming Ladybug got back to her beforehand and not. 

* * *

It was with great effort that Marinette kept herself from bouncing off the walls as the time for patrol neared. She had a good idea about Alya’s topic of choice, and her only question was how to bring it up to Chat Noir. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Chat knew she had the majority of the information between them, and while she couldn’t disclose anything to him without Master Fu’s go ahead (something she didn’t like, even now), including him in the interview process might bolster his spirits a bit. If nothing else, having Alya moon over getting to lob some questions at him would definitely stroke his ego, which Marinette supposed she could live with.

Not even the matter of bringing in her civilian self was of much concern. Ladybug had been the one to introduce him to Marinette, after all, so it wouldn’t be too hard to explain any favoritism away as familiarity with the miraculous-less girl who managed to outwit an akuma for an extended amount of time. (Not that it was particularly hard once you got down to it, really. Akuma tended to be obsessive, so as long as you could turn their focus on something else you could probably get a few good whacks in.)

It was barely nine o’clock when she leapt out of her room, excited to get on with the night. Patrols had started as a way to test out their partnership without the panic and stress of an actual akuma attack, where they could race rooftop to rooftop together, along with the added benefit of improving their standing with the general populous. She had intended for it to slowly peter off as the weeks went on, but then it turned out to be as fun as it was helpful in learning Chat Noir’s way of moving. So, the patrols had stuck. 

Now every other two days they would meet up at the Eiffel tower before debating the sector to roam that night. Settling on the uppermost level of steel, she tilted her head up to savor the cool night breeze. There was the soft _thunk!_ of leather boots hitting metal, and Ladybug suppressed a smile, eyes still closed.

“Rather early tonight, my lady,” he remarked.

Ladybug opened her eyes, turning to face him, and raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same for you, Chaton. Hoping to catch the early bird? If so, I’m afraid to say it’s flown the coop.”

She expected him to quip right back, but instead, he hesitated. “I actually wanted to talk about something.” Immediately, Ladybug stood, alarmed. 

“Is it Hawkmoth? An akuma?” 

Chat Noir flailed his arms in desperate assurance. “Nothing urgent, nothing urgent! If it was I’d probably already be stuck fighting it.” He turned to look out at the cityscape, face clearly flushed even in the dim glow from the streets. “It’s actually about our partnership...“

Another love confession, Ladybug concluded grimly. Steeling herself to let him down gently—at least he was doing it without any akumas near, this time—she probed, “What about our partnership?”

“Well, uh—” he stuttered, before blurting out, “Does my flirting bother you?”

Oh. That wasn’t where she thought this was going. “That’s a complicated question to answer, Chat,” she said, trying to think of where this was coming from.

“I can wait for a long answer, as long as I know where we stand,” he said, looking uncharacteristically solemn. 

Ladybug slipped back down to her previous sitting position, thinking hard. “Well, I like the concept fine,” she started, “the back and forth helps keep me in the present. It can give me ideas for my Lucky Charm—“

“But?” Chat Noir prompted, sitting next to her.

“But it can be really distracting when you keep at it, especially when it switches to asking me out. I don’t love you that way, and even if I did, I still wouldn’t date you as a superhero; it might compromise us in our fights, and Hawkmoth could use it to his advantage.” She unstrapped her yo-yo and began snapping up and down, suddenly in need of something to occupy her hands. “And, well, I already have my heart set on someone else anyway.”

Across from her, Chat screwed his eyes shut, hunching a bit. Clearly, this was exactly what he was hoping she wouldn’t say. Ladybug found herself regretting saying anything. Sure, he had asked, but she knew what it was like to force yourself to hear what would only upset you. 

She reached out a hand to him, grabbing his shoulder. “I truly am sorry, Chat, but that’s how the chips fell. If it were another time, another version of things—”

He shook her off, gazing at her earnestly. “Please don’t try and placate me, Ladybug. If I’m going to get over this, it’ll be best if I go cold turkey.”

“You can still pun and flirt, within reason,” she reminded, “all I ask is that you maybe drop the roses and asking me out during our fights.”

“Well, what does within reason mean?” he asked, seeming genuine.

Ladybug frowned, thoughtful. “Just noticing when I’m actually annoyed instead of playing along and stopping would help—if I’m upset I tend to be short with people, so if I start just saying your name or a quick line to keep on track, that’ll be when you should drop the quips.”

“I’m… not the best at social cues,” Chat admitted, “how about we have a phrase you can yell at me when I’m not getting it.” He leaned forward, grinning. “The cat's out of the bag? Code Ladybug Red?”

“‘The chips are down’ will work fine,” she said.

“Alright. Anything else you want to get off your chest, Buggaboo? Any terrible habits you don’t like?” 

“The fact that you keep calling be Buggaboo, for one,” she said, dryly. Glancing out at the lights of the city, she considered her next words carefully. “I do wish you’d be less reckless and sacrificial. There’s been more than once where I…” she trailed off, not quite ready to commit to the words _“I thought you were dead.”_

He clearly caught what she refused to say, expression going soft. “I can’t promise I won’t choose you over myself when it comes down to one of us going down; just in terms of logic, you need to be standing more than me—“ Ladybug turned her head, not willing to face him, “—But! There have been a lot of fights where I got hit with an attack I definitely could have avoided because I was distracted, and I’m sorry about leaving you behind like that. I’ll do better.”

“That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”

A moment of silence hung between them, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Then, willing up a sense of cheer, Ladybug leapt up, clapping her hands together. “I had something of an announcement myself. You remember the Ladyblogger girl?”

Chat rose up with her, grinning. “How could I not? She’s made a name for herself running straight to the akuma.”

“Well, she’s also proven to be pretty solid in terms of actual reporting, which is why I gave her friend Maeinette—you know, the one Evillustrator wanted to date?—a chance when she waved me down.” Ladybug tossed a covert glance in Chat’s direction at that declaration. He looked delighted, which wasn’t quite what she had expected, but she would take it.

“Oh? What did she have to say?” he asked, leaning on his baton.

“Apparently there’s been some concerning claims coming from a civilian about having personal contact with me. Usually, I’d ignore that sort of thing, but if Alya thinks it’s urgent enough to try and get my attention outside of simply asking me about it after an akuma attack—”

“ --Then there’s a good chance it actually _is_ urgent,” he concluded for her. “The threat of Hawkmoth targeting them alone is bad enough. So, why are you telling me?”

Ladybug cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t I? I figured you would want to come along and see what was happening. If this affects me, it affects you.”

“Nevermind. When do you think you’ll set the meeting time?” Ladybug frowned at the deflection, but allowed it. Perhaps they’d had enough serious talks for tonight.

“I was hoping to set it tomorrow night, right here—maybe around 8:00? Most akumas pop up before then, so I figured it’d be a safe bet. Think you can make it?” she said.

Chat grimaced. “Not sure. Technically I should be free, but my boss’s secretary might spring something on me last minute. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ladybug whipped her head around to him. “Chat, I’m pretty sure doing things like that are illegal!” she exclaimed.

“Family business, I’m afraid,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly, “ _Rich_ family business, I might add. Nothing I can really do about it, at least not for now.”

Biting back the argument springing to her lips, she promised herself to follow up with this. She simply wouldn’t allow her partner to be stuck in such conditions as to find being saddled with work late at night expected and unconcerning. But if he didn’t want to explain it to her, she wouldn’t pry. Not yet.

“I’ll keep the time and place, and if you can come, come. I can fill you in by the next day if needed,” she decided. Seeing that Chat had no objections, she gave her yo-yo a spin, narrowing her eyes challengingly. “If there are no other points of order, I say we should carry on with patrol. Remind me, what were our racing scores again? Ladybug, a hundred, and Chat Noir, nil?”

Chat Noir narrowed his eyes right back. “I think you’ll find your data is skewed, my lady. I have no other announcements, so—“

“—Perfect! Let’s go!” With that, she jumped off the steel beam, laughing as Chat shrieked protests above her.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should really stop promising to post soon, since it clearly won't happen.
> 
> the beginning for this took me a while to shake out. eventually i decided to move things along by taking a break from alya's pov to focus on others, with the added benefit of allowing me to shove more marinette in here! i especially enjoyed writing tikki, since her status as an ancient god made me feel like i could ramp up some of the dramatics. if i was a tiny god, i'd constantly be monologuing about my on fuck-ups. but maybe that's just me lmao. and alya, as always, lets me stretch my detective story muscles :)
> 
> anyway, hope y'all enjoy! as always, this isn't beta read, so let me know about any mistakes!


	5. new knowledge is laid onto the table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a pleasant morning, Alya meets with Claude and his mentor, and leaves with new knowledge and allies. Meanwhile, her late-night discussion with Ladybug is on the horizon.

After a solid eight hours of sleep and ten minutes spent staring up at her ceiling (still speckled with glow-in-the-dark stars from her space phase), mentally screaming about what the hell her life had become, Alya got up from bed and made a beeline to her computer to take a second look at her findings from yesterday. 

She took a moment to sheepishly delete several remarks about magical retaliation against Ladybug for what she had done—clearly the sleep deprivation was hitting her harder last night than she thought, she sounded seriously paranoid there—but kept the information about the calls she had made then. There were some intriguing implications regarding the last call, not including the fact it neatly tied the Rossi family to magic. She had several data points from only a bit of digging, and more to come today; at this rate, she might be able to take out Lila before Monday. It would certainly be better than having to resist punching her all day.

Even though actually punching her would feel  _ super _ good. She hadn’t realized it in her magical stupor, but Lila’s smug expression was literally the most punch-able thing in existence. There was a not insignificant part of her that wanted Lila to end up akumatized so that she had an excuse. Hell, she could probably get Trixx in on it. But only if she played her cards right—

Her phone buzzed from its place buried amongst her bed sheets, breaking her out of that train of thought. Too impractical, she concluded, rolling her desk chair over to her bed. Plus, Ladybug would be disappointed in her, and that simply couldn’t be allowed to happen.

They were texts from Marinette, and Alya couldn’t help but smile.

_ -i almost forgot to tell you!! _

_ -caught ladybug on her way to patrol! _

_ -actually, she caught me _

_ -i was on my balcony just in case and she swung by and when i saw her i tripped on my tulips and almost went over the railing :((((( _

_ -i’m fine tho!! she was super nice about it! she said to wait at ur house til 8, she’ll pick you up. _

_ Marinette you GODDESS _ , was her immediate response. Then, snorting to herself, she replied, _ sounds like you were really trip-toeing thru the tulips. Bet you went with style tho. Dw, there’s no stigma from me* _

The little pop-up bubble barely lasted a second.

_ -absolutely not. >:(((  _

_ -this is a pun free zone, alya!! _

_ -just for that i’m making you buy me coffee tomorrow  _

_ You can’t make me do anything, _ she shot back, _ if there’s any coffee on ur desk tmrrw it’s definitely not from me. You still like cappuccinos, right? _

__ _ -of course!! extra pumps of cream. _

After a bit more back and forth, Alya slipped her phone into her pajamas’ pocket and went back to reviewing what she had jokingly titled her “Lie-la Debunking PowerPoint Palooza” (which she would have to change before meeting up with Ladybug and Chat Noir—she should probably at least pretend to be professional). Aside from her now-deleted paranoid ramblings from before, it had every clue she had found neatly plotted out, from her sudden snapping out of Lila’s lies to her last call’s cryptic “Maria” comment. 

All she needed now was KidMime’s contribution to give actual credence to the fact that people could have magical powers, and she was pretty much set. After that, she could get the heros on the scene and (hopefully) have some of the pressure off her shoulders. Hell, with the new time she could work on making things up with Marinette—the girl deserved it, if her slowly clarifying memories held much weight. Alya had been...kind of a bitch, this past week.

Now wasn’t the time for that yet, though. For now she was still the only one who seemed to know what was going on, which meant if she wanted results she had to make them happen herself. Luckily, today had just as busy a schedule as yesterday: at 11:30 she’d meet up with KidMime, aka Claude, then from 2:30 to 5:00 she’d be combing through the Rossi family’s social media, plus doing some homework. 5:00 to 7:30 was when she had to babysit Ella and Etta while her parents went out on a date—which,  _ ugh _ —but that still left a good half hour before meeting up with Ladybug. It meant her parents wouldn’t find it strange she would head straight to bed, at least; the twins were a handful on the best of days, and down-right demons on the worst. Collapsing into a minor coma was the usual response to their collective reign of terror. **  
**

Right now it was about 9:30, so she had plenty of time to chip away at her algebra homework—another thing worth an  _ ugh _ —before heading out to a diner only a few blocks away to meet up with KidMime. Yanking her backpack out from its place next to her desk, she began rifling through her folders.

————————————-

With a hop, skip, and a jump, Alya arrived at the Scarlet Lily diner, a quaint little thing with red and white outdoor seating, filled with people eating and chatting in the midday sunlight. Taking a moment to re-adjust her bag from its place at her side, she let her eyes skim over the lunch rush scene. Her gaze caught on the lone figure sitting at the very end table to the left, drumming his fingers and bouncing his leg as he looked at his phone. That would be him.

Claude Haprele did not look particularly strange or magical, as Alya had half-thought he would. Brown-haired, brown-eyed, and slightly tanned, he looked like any other boy she’d see on the street and forget about five seconds later: plain, if vaguely attractive. She had assumed a person with a living shadow would be more distinguishable, but apparently not. The only way she was able to tell he was who she was meeting was his spot at the edge and the blue-striped shirt he had said he’d be wearing the night before. 

Still, even as she walked up to him she found herself asking, “ _ You’re _ KidMime?”

She then snapped her mouth shut, vaguely mortified. This could be her first real contact with the magical world outside of superheroes, and _ that’s _ what she opened with? She might as well have kicked him in the shin and ran. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” she said, “That was the worst way I could have phrased that—”

But Claude, already grinning brightly, simply waved her words away. “You were probably expecting someone a bit flashier, right? Allegra tells me I’m the white bread of guys all the time, I get it.”

Alya snorted despite her best efforts and shook her head, holding her hand out. “Still, I’d like to redo that introduction. Hi, I’m Alya; nice to meet you.”

He took it, shaking her hand vigorously enough to nearly yank it off. “Claude, likewise! I know I said to meet up here, but do you mind if we head somewhere else? My tricks aren’t exactly subtle, y’know?”

Immediately, the many lectures her parents had given her on internet safety flashed through her head. For a moment, her need for information warred with the thought of  _ no fucking way this guy’s getting me to a secondary location. _ Information won out by a thin margin. 

“Sure, where are we heading?” She slipped her hand into her right jean pocket, where she kept the swiss army knife her mother had given her. Just in case.

Claude, seemingly oblivious to her raised hackles, said, “To Elle’s house—she basically the mentor to every kid in the center of Paris who don’t have parents to teach them? You’ll like her, everyone does!”

The idea of a second person in the picture was reassuring. Alya kept her hand in her pocket. “Lead the way, then.”

“Right, it’s not too far—just a couple of blocks.” He turned on his heel, putting his whole body into it, arms swinging. Following behind, Alya quietly reassessed her earlier  _ “unassuming” _ assumption. This guy was a theatre kid if she ever saw one.

The walk was a short one, but that didn’t stop Claude from talking the whole way. Alya listened with half an ear as he spoke at length about his friends, the latest project in his science class, and how nice the day was, while she hummed and yes’d along. Internally, she focused the other matters, mentally checking that she had brought everything she might need. Notebook, pens, recorder, her phone. Would they let her stay and speak her case even though she wasn’t really here for magic advisement?

Even if they did she could go back to the subreddit, she reminded herself, as Claude cheerfully pointed out a nearby park that apparently had a lovely little carousel. Honestly, the more he chattered on the less she felt the need to cling to her swiss army knife; he was as threatening as a teddy bear.

Finally, they seemed to arrive to their destination: a small, well-kept rowhouse, placed right at the very end of its fellow red rowhouses. Alya didn’t get much time to inspect it, though, as Claude had already darted up the wooden steps and was making good use of the lion-shaped door knocker. Very, very good use.

“Are you sure you should— “ Alya began, but was cut off by the door opening. Claude was yanked along, refusing to let go of the door knocker.

“Hello, Claude,” the women in the doorway said, voice flat. She was probably in her mid-forties, with dark wavy hair streaked grey and deeply tanned features that were faintly worn with age, though they still carried a sharp sense of dignity. Dressed in a formal looking green skirt and black shirt, she wore the longest scarf Alya had ever seen— which was a lovely shade of blue— loosely around her shoulders.

Claude, bent half over from trying to keep a hold of the door knocker, merely grinned up at her, unrepentant. “Hey, Elle,” he chirped. “I brought along a friend.”

Elle looked down at her. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk, Alya smiled and waved, thoroughly unsure of how to approach what was happening in front of her. At least she had thought to switch out her usual flannel for a blouse; Elle looked like the sort of woman who appreciated someone put-together.

“I’m sorry for anything and everything about him,” Elle said, letting go of the door handle to grab Claude’s arm and try to remove him from door knocker, foot against the edge of the door to keep it open as she did. It...didn’t seem to be working well.

Alya made the executive decision to join them both on the stairway. “It’s fine, I’m the one who decided I wanted to meet him.”

Claude finally let go of the knocker, and turned to her. “I can hear the implied insult in your tone, and honestly? I probably deserve it.”

“I can neither confirm or deny that you were meant to.” Now that see could look at her up close, Alya noticed that there was a laundry hamper at Elle’s side, which she was holding closed with some effort. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you in the middle of something?”

Elle and Claude both looked to the hamper. Claude, for some reason, seemed excited to see it. “Yes, but you may as well come in anyway,” sighed Elle, opening the door fully and walking back enough to give them room to enter.

“Is Allegra in?” Claude asked, breezing through with the casual air of someone who had spent plenty of time in this house. Alya followed him in much slower, scrutinizing the room thoroughly enough she almost missed Elle’s reply of, “No, she’s practicing until two,” as she shut the door.

The front hallway lead straight to the stairs, with the living room to the right side. There was the simple quartet of a couch, armchair, coffee table, and tv, with a plush circular carpet in the middle of the room and a bookshelf against the wall. The color pallet was mostly rich jewel tones, made brighter by the light streaming in from the windows— probably what made Elle choose the end rowhouse in particular, Alya suspected.

Her attention was brought back to the conversation by Claude snapping his fingers in disappointment. “Aw, dammit. She’ll have to miss showing off. She had such a cool ability, too.”

Elle sent him a tired look. “Could you at least _ try _ not to swear in front of me, the person your parents trust to keep you in line?”

“Nah,” Claude said, “where’s the fun in that?”

“Who’s Allegra?” Alya asked, as Elle pinched the bridge of her nose at Claude’s laissez-faire response. She recalled her being a common name in much of Claude’s chatter.

Elle turned to her, clearly deeming Claude a lost cause. “My niece, she’s around your and Claude’s age. Her magic is based around music. Very pretty work, it  _ is _ a shame you aren’t meeting her today.”

Alya opened her mouth to say… something, but paused. Now, her eyes might have been deceiving her, but she was pretty sure that there was a mud-splattered coat peeking around the staircase like it was a person.

“Is there something wrong— ah. Right. I had forgotten about that.” Elle was looking at the coat too, though she didn’t seem at all surprised by it. She glanced at Claude. “Would you be a dear— “

“On it,” Claude cut in. Alya watched in baffled delight as he straightened up, then began to mimic swinging a lasso over his head. Behind him, his shadow darkened to a pitch black and expanded up and onto the wall. It looked like a cartoon version of a shadow, with holes to act as eyes and a mouth and everything, and was holding a shadowy lasso itself. 

Both Claude and his shadow slung their lasso at the coat in sync. The coat, suddenly seeming to realize what was happening, surged back to hide behind the stairs once more, but it was too late. Slowly, Claude and his shadow began pulling the rope of the lasso back bit by bit, dragging the struggling coat along with it.

“I suppose this dovetails nicely into my own abilities,” Elle said mildly, as the ends of her scarf raised up and unwound themselves from her shoulders to seize the coat. Meanwhile, Claude made a show of letting go of his invisible rope as his shadow disappeared. She crouched down and opened the cover of the laundry hamper, bracing a hand atop the clothes already inside that were now straining to leap out of the hamper in a bid for freedom. The scarf stabbed the coat into the mass before any could succeed, and Elle snapped the hamper shut once more.

“What the fuck,” Alya whispered, with great emotion. That was the most bizzare thing she had seen— besides Mr. Pigeon, who simply could not be topped. She  _ loved _ it.

Elle glanced at her as she stood up once more. “The more I wear a piece of clothing, the more personality it gains as my own magic infuses into it,” she explained, apparently deciding to take Alya’s exclamation as an actual question, “It only works with fabric, though, but that’s probably for the best. It wouldn’t do to have my bracelets banging around in the bathroom all night and day as they pleased. At least most traditional fabrics don’t make much noise when they slam into walls.”

Alya’s first thought was, again,  _ what the fuck. _ Her second was that she wasn’t sure if Marinette would love or hate having a power like that. The third, which made it out of her mouth, was, “Can the clothes move you while you’re wearing them?”

“If I wanted them too, yes,” Elle said. “It’s my magic that’s giving them the ability to move, so when they’re in contact with me, I decide what they can and cannot do.” Her scarf waved at Alya for effect.

She shot a glare down at the hamper. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t hold when they’re  _ off _ my body, which leads to this whole fiasco every Sunday.”

“Right,” Alya said. “They don’t like being washed, then?”

“Would you like being stuffed into a spinning machine full of water?” Claude asked, suddenly reinserting himself into the conversation.

“Definitely not, but couldn’t you hand wash them?” Alya asked back, genuinely curious. This wasn’t the weirdest discussion she had ever been a part of (again, Mr. Pigeon), but it was definitely up there.

Elle snorted. “Oh, I’ve tried. They like being squished into a sink as much as a washing machine— the washing machine at least goes  _ faster _ . Drying them on a line might work, but they refuse to behave when I hang them up on hangers, so I doubt an actual clothesline out where anyone can see them will go over any better.”

Claude chimed in again. “I keep telling her to just wear her clothes while she showers, but for some reason she never goes for it.”

“Because it’s a terrible idea, and I’d rather you stopped thinking about how I, a grown woman, should shower.” Claude had the decency to look sheepish at that. She sighed, bending down to loop a clasp on the hamper to its corresponding button and pushed it against the wall. “I think that’s enough of  _ that _ for now.”

Turning to Alya, she said, “You probably have a lot of questions, yes? I never caught your name, either.”

Honestly, Alya had completely forgotten she had yet to introduce herself amongst the madness. “Uh, Alya Cesaire, nice to meet you,” she said, mostly on autopilot, holding her hand out.

Elle’s eyes lit up with recognition as she took her hand. “Oh, the Ladyblog reporter!”

Alya’s eyebrows rose. While her blog was pretty popular, it’s viewer statistics tended to skew towards the ages twenty and under. Most people Elle’s age seemed to prefer traditional news sites when it came to akuma attacks. 

(Even though they usually took the alerts from  _ her _ blog, sometimes word for word. Yes, she was absolutely bitter, but she neither had the time nor money to file a lawsuit right now. The burdens of being a teenager.)

To Elle, she simply said, “The one and only!”

“Allegra’s a big fan, so I’ve heard a lot about you,” Elle said, and Alya flushed, flattered. 

She went even redder when Claude cackled and sang, “It’s ‘cause she’s got a cruuuuush! She’s gonna be so mad when I tell her she missed you for practice— ‘Legs has been wanting your autograph for  _ ages. _ ”

Elle threw him a look. “She’ll kill you for calling her Legs,” then, to Alya, she added, “he’s not wrong about the autograph thing, though. Would you consider signing something for her?”

Before Alya could form a coherent response to  _ that _ — her blog was popular, yes, but most people chose to focus on the heros instead of her and therefore didn’t recognize her in daily life; a decision she completely understood— Elle seemed to realize her embarrassment and suddenly started, looking around the room theatrically, and said, “Christ, what kind of host am I, just letting us all stand here next to the door? Here, take off your shoes and we’ll head to the kitchen, I was going to make tea after catching that coat anyway.”

Alya and Claude complied, and in under a minute they were politely manhandled into a pretty yellow-and-white tiled kitchen and sat at the table. Elle put the electric kettle to use, pulling out some bread and jam from her cupboards in the meantime. 

“So, let’s get to the meat of the visit, now,” Elle said, handing a butterknife to Alya. “You’re here with questions about your potential magic?” 

Alya stalled by keeping her attention on the piece of toast she was currently slathering in blackberry jam. She wasn’t going to try and bluff or lie her way through this, obviously; it was impractical and would keep her from getting to the matter of Lila besides. The question was how to approach it.

She decided the straightforward approach would probably be the best choice in the long run. Why start out on the wrong foot? “Not  _ my _ magic, exactly, but I’ve seen a classmate of mine doing things she couldn’t do without powers of some kind— ” she began.

Elle straightened up, Claude following suit. “You’ve seen someone doing magic just right out in the open?” There was an urgency to her voice that Alya could have only hoped for.

“ —yes,” she confirmed, “It’s not like she’s bursting into flame in public, though. From what I can tell, it seems to be some kind of… lying based ability? Essentially, a person will believe whatever she tells them, no matter how incredible. In one case, she bragged about saving a musician’s kitten from an airport runway. My friend, who’s worked with that musician before, tried to tell me he didn’t have a kitten, but I just didn’t listen and asked if she had any proof to the contrary, despite not asking the girl for proof herself.”

Frowning sharply, Elle leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “But you don’t believe her anymore. What changed?”

“She tried to feed me a lie I already knew wasn’t true. Basically, she showed me a necklace and claimed it was a priceless heirloom, but I had bought one just like it just the week before. That’s how her powers work, I think. As long as there’s a single shred of likelihood what she’s saying is true, people will believe it without question, even when someone else tries to disprove it. It’s only when she tries to lie about something that a person already knows absolutely can’t be true that the power doesn’t work.”

“So it can affect multiple people at once, then,” Elle muttered, more to herself than Alya. “Sounds like an  _ exterius _ style of magic, in that case. Could it be dual, though?”

“Exterius?”

Elle glanced up at her, as if she had forgotten Alya didn’t know much of anything about magic. “It’s likely this girl has magic that mainly affects people or things around her, as opposed to affecting only herself. Take Claude: he can use it to hit another person, but he could also use it to aid himself if he wanted to, so it’s called dual magic— both  _ interius _ and  _ exterius _ . Affecting the self and affecting the other.” 

To demonstrate the idea, Claude pretended to hold a plank out in front of himself, shadow leaping up on the wall behind him with a plank of its own. He then lightly wacked his own head with it, and Alya heard the sound of wood hitting a skull. Claude grimaced, dropping the fake plank. His shadow disappeared. 

“I feel like there was a nonviolent way to show me that,” she said mildly, only barely restraining herself from either laughing or launching into a million questions. She was the guest here, after all. There was a time and place, she reminded herself, and she was here for Lila. She could just come back and interrogate Claude about the implications of his powers later.

“Yeah, probably,” he said.

Elle continued, apparently deciding to pretend the whole exchange didn’t happen. “Of course, there’s a chance she might be affecting herself too, albeit unknowingly. Have there been any signs she herself believes her own lies?”

Alya shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen. One of the first lies she told us all was she had tinnitus in one ear, but she kept switching them when people asked her about it. If she believed it herself, wouldn’t she remember the correct ear?”

“She must know she has magic, then,” Claude remarked, “if she feels confident enough to make such a clear mistake and not give a shit.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Alya said with a frown, ignoring Elle’s sigh of  _ Claude, please. _ “I’m still not sure whether that points to her knowing or not. On one hand, why the hell else would she lie so blatantly; on the other, if she’s always had that power, it’d be easy to grow up thinking people were gullible as hell and stop caring about consistency. When do magical people get their powers, anyway?”

“Witches is fine,” Elle noted. “And that’s a complicated question to answer— academics have been having fights about the catalyst for decades now, and are no closer to a single answer.”

“I got mine only about six months ago, but Felix has had his for a couple years, and ‘Leg’s had hers even longer,” Claude said.

Elle set her head on clasped hands. “Mine came it when I was a teenager myself. What is agreed upon is that around 8 or 9 is the youngest a person can develop a personal magic, though it’s rare for it to come in before teenage years, and that a person’s powers depend heavily in their interests, personalities, and circumstances. General magics can be taught to anyone at a younger age, though.” She frowned. “Even if you hadn’t seen her using her powers for her own favor, the fact she has developed magic based purely on deceiving others would be very concerning. Storytelling or trickery for entertainment’s sake is one thing, but that sort of magic doesn’t paint her in a very good light.”

Alya snorted. “Trust me, it’s exactly the light she deserves.”

“I’m sure,” Elle said absentmindedly, clearly deep in thought. “This will need to be addressed, assuming your analysis is correct, which I do. That sort of power over others is very, very dangerous. ”

“Yeah, what if she gets bored of yanking around her classmates and tries controlling adults?” Claude added, brow furrowed. “She could probably control really important people if she went about it right. Hell, maybe she does already and just doesn’t realize what she has yet!”

Straightening, Elle looked Alya square in the eyes. “Would you mind telling me more about this girl? I won’t try to approach her or anyone in the class— clueing her in right now could be disastrous, even ignoring how it would look to outsiders. But knowing where she stands will help with assessing my and others’ handling of the situation. To have a witch of such caliber running around unchecked is exactly what the rest of us are trying to avoid.”

For a moment Alya warred with herself. A part of her desperately wanted to keep this battle to herself. It was her friends being hurt, her life being affected; it was  _ her _ fight, first and foremost. Relinquishing information— and therefore, control-- to an adult and her nameless, faceless colleagues didn’t feel right. They didn’t have the emotional stakes Alya did, the closeness to the aftereffects of what Lila was doing.

But the bitter pill Alya had to swallow was that she wasn’t the expert here. Despite all the time she had taken to carve a space as the one and only information hub for Miraculous magic and its welders, none of that applied in this situation. And to deny help now might mean a catastrophe later. Claude was right— what if she did already have control over important figures? Her mother was a diplomat; how many political people had she already convinced of her greatness? 

It might have been zero, certainly. Adults usually didn’t care to listen to teenagers, even those of their fellows, and Lila might be more cautious about who she bragged to than Alya thought, keeping it to her peers and comparatively powerless teachers. But it might be one or more, and that meant the stakes were beyond Alya and her comparatively silly friendship drama. That meant people with actual power and expertise in the situation needed to come in.

Taking a breath, Alya forced herself to let go of her protective feelings. She could simply think of this in terms of leaving her website in Max’s hands for coding, or commissioning Nathanial and Marinette to help design the look of the blog. She was giving up the reigns as leader, yes, but she was still a part of the process at every step.  _ Anything that gives justice to Marinette and everyone else is worth it, _ she told herself sternly, and found she meant it.

“Alright,” she said to Elle and Claude, “I’ll tell you what I know— but in return I want your word I won’t be shut out after this. That girl is personally affecting my life, and I won’t stand to be removed from the investigation.”

She worried, for a second, that Elle would pull some authoritative card and deny her the right to know what happened, or simply scoff at her dramatics. 

Elle did neither; instead she nodded solemnly as though these were exactly the terms she expected, and promised, “I and Claude will alert you to any and all developments on our side of things. In fact, I can probably fold you into my usual general magics classes as well; it’ll give me a time to fill you in, and the world could always use a few more potioneers.”

Alya’s eyebrows rose at such a casual offering, considering the secrecy witches seemed to conduct themselves with as a rule. “Just like that? Can I even learn magic?”

“Just like that!” Claude exclaimed, but Elle waved her hand back and forth.

“I’d need to speak to your parents and give them a reason you’d be coming to my house— I’m not just going to snap up teenagers off the street without warning— but yes, anyone can at least learn most potions, it’s more about the magic of the ingredients than the magic of the brewer.” Elle explained. “As for actual spells, you’d need to be tested to be sure, but it’s worth taking a look at. Not having magically abilities doesn’t necessarily mean a person is without magic.”

“It’s a deal, then,” Alya said, feeling dazed. Potentially learning magic was not on the table of possibilities when she agreed to meet with Claude. Biting into her cold toast as an excuse to gather her thoughts, Alya worked through the most important information to impart first. She breathed in.

“So, here’s what I know,” she began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * a style and a stigma are parts of a typical flower. would a 14 year old know this? probably not, but i do, so i put it in!
> 
> \--  
> heyyyyyy, it's been a while. a whole year, considering new years eve. whoops!
> 
> anyway, the chapter's here now! and the next one should be out very soon, as literally only one scene is left to write. fun fact: it was originally going to be one whole chapter, but then it became double the last one-- which is why it took so long-- so i thought i should maybe cut it in half and give a chapter to y'all now, lmao. i swear the next chapter won't take months. promise.


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